


Fall Out

by Anne_Animouse



Category: Adam Ant (Musician), Ant Muzak (2002)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Animouse/pseuds/Anne_Animouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton's Third Law of Motion states "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."  Even if the action is just a silly prank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Highlander_II](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlander_II/gifts).



> The prompt said "if you manage something super-srs with this... u r a god. =)". I did my best!
> 
> Unbeta'd, for the moment.
> 
> It should go without saying, but these are fictional events only loosely based on real people. This totally didn't happen, I promise.

Marco lets himself into the flat, and sighs when he hears Merrick and Tibbs still arguing about the Great Hot Dog Conspiracy. They're in the living room; he can hear Merrick tapping away with his drum sticks on the coffee table, and he knows the occasional pauses mean he's making a particularly grand gesture, only to return to the drumming when he feels whatever point he's trying to make has been made. Marco had called for a minicab and then had to wait for the driver to pick him up at the store, and he can't imagine how they could still be arguing over the same thing 20 minutes later. 

"I'm telling you, man, it's not like that. I'm sure it's just because the hot dogs are sold based on weight, and the buns are sold based on size! That's all. No massive conspiracies, no greedy butchers and bakers hiding in the shadows of the government. Simply a difference of priorities." Tibbs sounds like he's starting to get exasperated. No surprise there.

The tapping stops, and Marco can picture Merrick now, holding the drumstick at the base, waving it at Tibbs in that way that always makes Tibbs wrinkle his nose and roll his eyes.

"Then why don't they just make six really fat dogs? Same weight, but then you wouldn't have any left over in the end. Easy."

Marco doesn't wait around to hear what Tibbs' response will be. He chooses to ignore his two band mates instead, moving past the living room and into the kitchen to drop off the bags of groceries he'd had to carry with him in the taxi he'd called. He sets them on the counter, but doesn't bother to put them away. Adam's been in one of his moods the last few days, and Marco doesn't feel like sorting through the cabinets to try and figure out where he's moved everything. Nothing in the bags is perishable, and he's sure if he leaves them on the counter one of the others will eventually put everything away. He's still annoyed with the way Adam had treated him at the store. He'd been short tempered, ordering him around and picking at him through every part of the trip. Practice that day hadn't been much better. Every suggestion Marco had made had been shot down, every chord he'd played had been too flat or too pitchy or too loud or not loud enough. Adam was always a perfectionist, but sometimes when he's feeling particularly moody, nothing is every good enough. And the way he'd encouraged the boys to drive off without him had been absolutely uncalled for. Not to mention the fact that Adam owes him 5 pounds now, since they didn't circle back around to pick him up after their little prank. 

Marco is all set for a confrontation with Adam, as he makes his way down the hall that leads from the kitchen to their room. He can hear Terry Lee practicing as he passes his door, even with the soundproofing their neighbours had insisted they install in both of the drummers' rooms, and he wonders not for the first time at the almost obsessive dedication both of the drummers have towards their craft. Even in the shops, they're lucky if they can get the drummers to stop their tapping long enough to get past breakable items.

It wasn't that they weren't all dedicated. But after the hours they'd spent in the studio today, the last thing Marco wanted was to pick up his guitar again. Tonight wasn't the first time they'd found themselves at the grocery store in the middle of the night because Adam would insist they practice without pause, leaving them with no time to pick up the few essentials they needed. Marco just hoped that Adam's short temper had only been because he was as tired as everyone else, and not a sign that Adam was growing bored with him. Ever since Marco and Adam had realised the nature of the feelings they had for each other, and started dating, it had been a constant worry in the back of Marco's mind, that one day Marco would find himself going the way of the string of women that had followed Adam's divorce.

Marco paused outside the door to the room they shared together, one hand braced on the frame as he tried to calm his temper. He was angry with Adam for leaving him behind, but he was familiar with Adam's fickle moods, and he knew that if he approached the situation with obvious anger, Adam would go on the defensive, and nothing would be accomplished but raised blood pressure and angry words. Instead, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then softly pushed the door open.

He wasn't sure what exactly he had been planning on saying. He'd had a rough idea, arguments and points he'd wanted to bring up, justifications for his frustrations, and counter-points for the reasons he imagined Adam might offer. But he forgets them all in the time it takes for him to realise the room is pitch black and switch on the light. Adam looks up at him, squinting in the sudden glare of the overhead lights. Marco thinks he's probably been sitting on the floor in the corner since he got back home, and the smeared makeup on his cheeks and too bright gleam in his eyes is testament to the fact that he's been crying for at least part of that time. Adam sniffs, and rubs his hand across his face, tracking more white paint down his cheeks. Marco crosses the room and kneels beside Adam, pulling him into a tight hug. Adam returns the hug, clinging to the guitarist tightly and burying his head againt Marco's shoulder. Whatever mood Adam had been in before, it's clearly passed now.

"I'm sorry." Adam's voice is muffled by Marco's shirt, and barely more than a whisper. "I shouldn't have left you like that. No one wants to be left behind. It was thoughtless, I don't know why I did it."

Marco shushes him, and kisses him lightly on the top of his head. He brushes his hands across Adam's damp cheeks, smudging the white war paint even more. He'd been angry, furious even, when he'd been left, but the obvious pain in Adam's eyes makes it all seem inconsequential now. "It's alright, Adam. No harm done. It was just a silly joke." He pauses for a moment, staring down thoughtfully into those dark eyes. "You do owe me 5 quid, though. Those taxis aren't cheap!"

Adam sits back, studying Marco's face. Marco offers a small smile, tries to tell him without words that Marco won't hold a grudge. Finally, Adam returns the smile with a weak grin of his own. "That must've made quite a sight, though. Marco Pirroni, riding in style in the back of a minicab. You probably gave that driver the thrill of his week." 

Marco laughs and tugs lightly at one of the ribbons that rests on Adam's forehead. All is forgiven.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me for any inaccuracies or liberties taken with bipolar disorder, no offense is meant.


End file.
